retreat, but
was dispatched to Matilda with an account of all that had occurred. He
found the magnanimous princess threatened by an army more than treble
her own. But she was undismayed and full of hope, meditating a bold
enterprise that was crowned with success. In the dead of the night, when
the imperialists, secure in their numerical superiority, were plunged in
sleep, she led the remnants of her troops into the hostile camp. The
sleepers awoke to the cry of "St. Peter! St. Peter!" and perished ere
they could grasp their arms. The chivalry and nobility of Lombardy were
well-nigh exterminated. In a few hours, corpses and tents alone remained
of the hostile array. Why should not Sorbara be as magical a word as
Thermopylae? It _would_ be, if the Christian chroniclers had shared the
pride or shown the polish of Grecian historians, and if modern
Christians felt a Grecian enthusiasm for the deeds of their Christian
ancestors. Matilda differed from Leonidas but in one respect--in
surviving the action and remaining victor on the field.

Some days after the battle, Gilbert was summoned into Matilda's
presence.

"I owe you more," she said, "than I can ever repay. Your former
voluntary services and fidelity are enhanced by your brilliant exploits
in this last victory. Be pleased to style yourself Governor of Modena."

Gilbert advanced a step, and sinking upon one knee, replied:

"Madam, I came to share in your generous devotion to our common Father,
and to assist you as best I could. You are now--thanks to your own
valor--victorious and secure. I must decline your bounty, for from this
moment I renounce the soldier. Here is my sword, madam; since Rome and
you no longer require it, I shall not need it; nowhere would I more
willingly resign it than thus at your feet."

As the morning dawned, Gilbert de Hers, accompanied by a troop of horse,
set out for Monte Cassino.

Gregory had retired to Salerno, where he passed his days in the
contemplation of heavenly things, and in reading the lives of the Saints
and ecclesiastical history. Gilbert soon heard of his increasing
weakness. The sun that had poured its light over the world, despite the
mists and clouds of error and vice, was setting at last. How his dying
words bespeak the Saint: "My best-loved friends, I count my labors
nothing. That which gives me confidence is the consciousness of having
loved justice and hated iniquity!" When his assistants, groaning in
anguish, adver